FML
by KagomeMiroku
Summary: Completed: USUK: It was just a meaningless fling and a concert, nothing more.  It would never mean anything more.
1. Arthur 1

It started raining during the outside concert, and none of us gave a damn. We let the rain wash over us, soaking our too tight clothing, our unkept hair, and having our make-up run down and stain our cheeks. We couldn't have cared less about the rain. To be honest, it made the entire event more thrilling. As the guitar planning so beautifully melded in with the downpour, the lead singer's voice belting out the lyrics to the familiar songs that every die hard fan or this once underground band knew word-for-word to. People were shamelessly fucking in the middle of the crowd, hoping to whatever higher power that their exposed bodies didn't get trampled on as a mosh pit picked up, to high off their own ecstasy, and whatever everyone around them was smoking.

And while all that shit was going on, I was waiting by the fucking portable bathrooms while Francis and his fuckbuddy went at it in the stall.

"Don't see why you couldn't just do it in the middle of everything. Y'know, like everyone else." I folded my arms, watching as the group of wild, over-hormonal teens all blended together as the pace of the music sped up. Don't see why I have to stand here and take guard while you two whores go at it like fucking rabbits in a porta-potty, is what I really mean. I can handle myself, y'know...

"O-oh, oui, Gilbert, oui!" Fists slammed against the door to the cubicle, then rapid French decided to tango along to the lyrics to the song. His own fucking melody, how precious.

More like sickening.

I rolled my eyes, bouncing on the heels of my combat boots as another song began to start. It was a quick beginning, and followed throughout the whole song. Quick, loud, and powerful. I smirked, banging my head as the drums kicked in, followed by another guitar. I didn't need to be pressed up against some random ass person to be enjoying myself, I was perfectly fine standing by myself. I could dance alone.

The singer screamed into the microphone, having my fists ball up and my head roll rapidly, pushing my hair in my face, covering my eyes. Everything else disappeared, and there was nothing by my dancing and the music and the pouring rain against my skin. Soaking me and washing away everything to let my concert experience enhance by a thousand.

"Haha! Look at that freak!"

My eyes shot open, narrowing instantly in the direction of some fucking kid who obviously didn't belong at a concert like this. He was blond with glasses, wearing some shirt with some rapper on it and money signs on his boxers that were wear his pants should've been. He grinned at his buddy, nudging him with his elbow. The friend with spiked hair, who looked more appropriate to be here, but still obviously fake, chuckled and pulled out a cigarette, quickly lighting it up. The blond, wanna-be gangster, grinned at me, waving his fingers.

His father fucks him up the ass with a spoon every night... His father fucks him up the ass with a spoon every night... His father fu-

"Wot the fuck're you looking at, huh?" I spat out.

"Nothin', princess." he grinned, giving some sort of gesture to his friend to go on with out him as he walked towards me. "Have a little spazz attack over here?"

"Fuck off."

He grinned wider. And the worst part was, it looked like some damned good-natured grin, rather than teasing like the rest of his bloody words. Out of place. This fucktard was completely out of place on so many levels. I wanted to rip his glasses off his face, break them right before his blind eyes, and then stomp his face down against the concrete, in a puddle, just to wipe that out of place grin of his ungodly lopsided face.

"Hey, I'm just trying to make a friend here." he laughed.

I narrowed my eyes. "In case your 'earing s'just as rotten as your sight, I told you to fuck off."

"Aw, ya don't mean that."

"And you're who, exactly, to tell me wot I do and don't mean?"

"The name's Alfred!"

I snorted. He pulled a sort of face, having me smirk. Some git thinks he can come off and make fun of me, then offer friendship. Please. Like I needed any more friends. I had plenty. Plenty. And didn't need some little "Alfred" coming and messing things up. What kind of name was Alfred anyway?

"If ya think my name's so funny, what's yours?"

I stared. Like I'd actually give him my name.

Turning away from him, I banged my fist against the door to the portable bathroom, receiving a bunch of knocking in return, then some inaudible, German shit. Yeah, like I understood what Gilbert said. Like I actually paid attention to what Gilbert said. Whenever I saw the bloke, he was entangled in Francis... Or Antonio... Or both. Merlin, I hated all three of them, but Francis was my ride home ("Stay close to your cousin, Arthur!" "...shut up, mum." Francis grinned and slung an arm around my shoulder. "Not to worry auntie, Arthur will be safe! And as long as he doesn't wonder off, he'll get a ride home!"). Fucking French idiot.

"Hey!"

I raised a brow boredly back at that Alfred kid.

"Wot?"

"I was talking to ya!"

I yawned. "I care?"

"Well ya should!"

Rolling my eyes, I looked back up at the stage, where artificial music began playing. The band was taking a break and the crowd was splitting up to go snack and buy merchandise. I bobbed my head to the music as he chewed my ear off with his annoying babble. His accent was terribly annoying, but it was inevitable to run into an American and some point, wasn't it? This whole crowd was meshed with people from all over, I was just hoping those fatass American morons weren't invited.

"Pray tell," I folded my arms, watching some drunk bitch stumble with her friends towards the back. "Just why the fuck I should care?"

He didn't have an answer. He just kind of stood there quietly, eyes darting towards the shaking stall in disgust. Like he never fucked at a concert before.

I grinned, own eyes scanning him over. He looked awkward, really, hidden beneath that confident facade. He had on some stupid grin that faltered ever so slightly when he noticed me looking at him. Quirking a brow, he slipped his thumbs through the belt holes in his falling down pants, tilting his head to the side. Innocent. So fucking innocent. Another way that he was so obviously out of place at this sort of concert. What. A. Loser.

Smirking, I approached him, and he blinked at me as I did so. My hands reached out, taking both of his between mine, but he pulled back.

"Yo, dude, just what do ya think you're doing?"

"Shut up and follow me, alrigh'?"

"I don't-"

But he didn't finish whatever the hell "he didn't," and stumbled along after me as I walked towards the crowd, pushing through people that were so close together and refused to budge, like they were glued. I kept one hand around the Alfred kid's wrist as I pushed through, cursing and whoever would curse at me, but never stopping until we reached the heart of the crowd. I turned and looked at him, pressed up close against his chest as people behind myself and then behind him squished us closer together.

"What are we doing?" he asked over the talk of the crowd.

I rolled my eyes. Amateur. Looking up at him, with a playful smirk spread across my lips, I had to stifle a laugh at the look he gave me. It was a cross between confusion and sheepishness, and it heightened as I wrapped my arms around his neck and winked.

"D-dude, what are ya doing? I'm so not like that, dunno whatever gave you that impression, aha, bu-"

My lips crashed against his, working hard and rough against his unusually soft lips. Without even looking, I can tell those blue eyes of his were wide with shock, but I continued sloppily kissing the American until I finally felt his lips work back against mine. Right on time. I leaned against him closer, twirling my fingers around his loose hair, my tongue finding its way in the cavern of his mouth. It was warm and wet and a battle for dominance. Teeth clashing, tongues intertwined, and saliva making it's way out from the battle.

He growled, his own hands roaming down my sides to my ass, grabbing and squeezing, having me smirk against his mouth and let out a pleased moan. It satisfied him, those Americans so easily satisfied, and he kept his grip with one hand, while the other ran up the back of my shirt. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at his eagerness. I could tell this was more to him than it was to me, and wondered instantly if the poor sod was a virgin. Probably. Having his virginity stolen in the middle of a crowd at a concert he didn't belong at, by some fucking stranger no less. Someone had low standards.

Quickly, bottom layers of clothing were wrapped around our ankles, and no one in the crowd seemed to notice. I fell ontop of him, grinning as a song picked up. A perfect rhythm to work against. I looked up at me, panting lightly, an obvious blush upon his innocent cheeks. I was about to destroy that innocence, and I fucking loved every bit of that. That'll teach him for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, for poking fun at the way I bloody dance. Oh, how embarrassing for him! Where's you lose it, Alfred? Oh, you know... At some concert... To some guy... Ha! Oh the shame.

I went up and down on him quickly, not even giving myself time to adjust to his size, which I suppose he had one thing to brag for. He rested his hands on my hips, trying to guide me. Like I'd let some stupid virgin guide me in something I knew ten times better than him. ...with Francis as your cousin, you got plenty of practise... I followed the rhythm as the guitar played and the singer screamed into the microphone, my own moans melding with his words as though part of the song. My own meoldy, sounded way better than the strangled moans Francis was giving out to Gil.

The entire time, despite the occasional wince, I kept eye contact with the no-longer-innocent American, my lustful green eyes boring into his shining blue ones. I smirked, seeing this more as a game, but the poor bloke obviously figured there'd be more out of it than some meaningless fuck. Well, someone was in for a rude awakening.

His lips pressed to mine, soft and gentle, despite the rough pace I was working with, following the rhythm of the band. Again, he was so out of place with the entire setting. Gangster, innocent, loving... Did he really not get that this meant nothing? Did he really not understand that I was doing this out of my own favour, to break him rather than him take this as a gain? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! But what else could be expected of an American?

Our lips locked, our hips in tact, his hands wrapped around the small of my back, still insisting on guiding me. Like he thought I was new at this too. Wasn't it obvious that I wasn't? Sure, our situation was a bit tight, but I was most obviously professional at the art of fucking! Especially at bloody concerts!

"Oh... Oh, God... Wh-what's your name..?"

I ignored him, despite the little voice in my mind that yelled out, "Arthur!" My fingers gripped onto his shirt, and I swear I saw spots. Merlin, this wasn't... Wasn't like my other meaningless flings, huh? It felt better, more right, and the more I rode him the more I wanted him to know my name. I wanted him to yell it out with the crowd, just as I was subconsciously yelling out his.

Well, bullocks.

And then it was over. My knees were weak and wobbling as I stood, fixing myself quick and pushing through the crowd. He called out to me.

Fuck this concert, fuck the music, fuck the crowd, fuck Alfred, fuck my life.

"Francis, I want to go 'ome..."


	2. Arthur 2

Mum figured that I was sick and let me be. End of story, that was that. She brought me extra blankets, extra pillows, and left a warm, flat bottle of Ginger Ale on my night table for my "upset stomach." She figured I caught a cold or some nonsense for the horrible weather I put my body through at the concert, but both Francis and I knew better.

The stupid frog was spending the weekend, thanks to the generosity of my mother. He insisted upon tending to my every need, in front of my mum's eyes, but as soon as she was gone, he'd pester me about the "sexy young piece of meat I walked away from, while pulling my trousers up, at I-know-where."

"Fuck off," I muttered, rolling on my side to face the off-white coloured walls, which apparently was a French invitation for my moronic cousin to slip onto the bed, wrap his hairy arms around me, and rest his chin on my shoulder.

"Did he reject you?" he asked, nibbling gently on my earlobe. Freak. "Were you having some... Issues?"

I could hear the smirk in his voice, and elbowed him in the gut as his hand trailed down beneath my sheets, against my stomach, to the front of my boxers. He groaned, whined, and hugged his stomach, whimpering something about me being cruel, but went back to cuddling against me like nothing happened. Idiots could be so stubborn, so persistant; but only when you didn't want them to be.

"Tell me what happened, mon cher."

I wasn't guilty about the entire Alfred situation. Hell, I wasn't even sure that Alfred was even his name. All I knew is that I couldn't stop thinking about the once-so-innocent bloke who insisted upon making fun of me at that stupid concert for that stupid band that wasn't even good, to be honest. I remember taking the virgin's innocence away and emotionally humiliating him, although not sticking around long enough to see the triumph that I'd conquered. But I wasn't, at all, guilty.

Nor did I wonder what he was up to, what was going on in the American's life. Most-likely, he headed back to whatever state he hailed from, and continued on with his probably normal as sin life. Not that I cared. Good for him. Bet he didn't even remember the concert, bet he forgot all about me. Impossible. Every virgin remembers their first time.

"Wot 'appened was, I 'ad to listen to you and your little fuckbuddy go at it in a stall over and over. Now, if you don't mind," I stuggled to distance myself from him. "I'm sick, in case you didn't 'ear my mum. Now, run off and go be... French somewhere else."

He chuckled, but I don't recall saying anything that was amusing. Fucking weirdo.

"We both know that you're not sick, Arthur," he nuzzled his stubbly chin against my cheek, having me reach up and scratch it. "Let's do something fun while Auntie's away. I won't judge you~"

With that last comment, I shoved him off my bed and threw the covers off me. He looked up at me, laying sprawled out on the floor, and I purposely stepped right ontop of his stomach on my way out the door. Shoes were down the steps, mum was at the store, and, per usual, it was raining. I rolled my eyes and grabbed a hoodie jacket from off the banister; the frog called out to me, calling for me to wait up, but I slammed the front door shut behind me and jogged down the path to our front gate. Rain was something I was used to, something I was tolerent to. The rain oddly reminded me of Alfred.

Why did I keep calling him that? I met him for hardly an hour or so, and I was calling him by his given name. Not even "guy," which is the one I call most people I meet at concerts, people unworthy of whatever their given names were. But this stupid, innocent, genuinely smiling American got his name without even hesitation, what the fuck was up with that? What did he do to deserve a title, if at all? He made fun of me, I stripped him of his innocence to humiliate him, and here I was, the one who felt completely humiliated.

I had nothing to be humiliated about though. I hooked up at concerts all the bloody time. He was absolutely, not at all, different. Alfred the American, probably ran crying to his spiked hair buddy as soon as I left him, because I wasn't the one who ran off crying. I didn't seek solace in Francis' arms and make him take me the fuck home because I was humiliated; I did nothing wrong. Whereas he, Alfred, was a completely different story. He was the one at fault, not I. And still, I couldn't help but wonder what he was up to.

Walking into a convenient store, sheltered from the rain, I walked down an aisle towards the refrigiated section, pulling out a large, glass bottle of iced tea. As soon as I walked in, I saw the cashier eyeing me suspiciously, like I was going to steal something, like I wasn't worth enough to own any money to be in his cheap arse store. Yeah, that was why I wasn't the one working at some lousy, dirty, filthy store, wasn't it? I paid for the drink quick, and ducked back out into the gloomy weather, opening the bottle up and taking a sip of the cool drink.

Maybe Alfred didn't go back home to the states. Maybe he moved over here and, in celebration, he and his friend attended the concert. I couldn't be sure if his friend was American either, but I only guessed such. He had such an odd-annoying, even-hairstyle, but I didn't really pay him much mind. It was Alfred I thought of. Maybe he was with some summer program and they decided to take their trip here. Why wouldn't they, right? England was a perfect place to vacation, and those sorry Americans, who declared their independence, always wanted to come running back home.

Laughing out loud, I took another sip to my iced tea, hoping to the Queen herself that Francis didn't make a mess of the house while I was gone. Knowing him, he'd blame it on me; despite mum believing me to be sick, she'd probably take the frog's side, since he was a guest. How long did it take for her to go pick Peter up from camp anyway?

Starting back home, with one hand in my pocket, I realised that I would never see that stupid American again, and it was undoubtly for the better. Why the hell would I even want to see him again, right?

"Where did you go? Did you bring me anything back?" Francis held his hand against the speaker to the cordless, glancing at me as I walked in, soaking wet. He was probably talking to Gil or Toni, no one else really liked him; not that I blamed them.

"Yeah, a nice bag of invisible chocolates. Enjoy."

I walked towards the steps, stopping to take a sip, then glance back down as Francis idly twirled his fingers around his hair, giggling giddily as he talked to one of his boyfriends.

"Oui, party over Arthur's tomorrow night. Invite everyone."

-

**A/N: It's not as long as the first chapter, and may seem a bit different- But keep in mind, I wrote the first chapter like.. Ages ago. I think I might switch to Alfred's point of view next chapter, I'm still thinking it over.. ALSO, Al's friend in the first chapter, was supposed to be Holland. Random, I know, but I just kinda put anyone. **

**Please review~  
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	3. Alfred 1

FML  
>Chapter Three<br>Alfred's POV 1

I never really thought myself much of a thinker. All of my grades were crap because I didn't "live up to my full potential," and I couldn't focus too long on a book because, let's face it, who could really stare at a page for too long? I just didn't get reading, or every other subject, so I figured I didn't have to think much on it, which I guess caused me to throw thinking out the window altogether, but man, now I couldn't stop. It was kind of freaking me out.

Holly brought me to a concert sometime during the week, I think it was a Tuesday, and then he left me while I tried to make friends with some nameless punk kid. Man, he had a funny dance, but no sense of humour. I tried to talk to him, but he was such a stick in the mud, it was like pulling teeth to get anything out of the guy! I'd talk and talk, but he wasn't really listening to me, so I talked louder, because I figured it had to be because the music was so loud, right? He was British, those guys were supposed to be polite and stuff, so he couldn't have been purposely ignoring me; then he snapped at me, and my God if that guy wasn't the most bi-polar person I ever met, then I don't know.

We went through the crowd, to the middle, and the whole time I remember thinking-this was when the whole thinking thing started up-that this guy was holding my hand. I should've got that he was, you know, straight as a circle by the way he looked. His pants were way too tight for a straight guy, how the hell was he able to be so... confined? But, those pants seemed oddly easy enough to slip out of.

"Al, you ready yet?"

"Yep!"

I called out to the open door, still sprawled out on my buddy's bed, with no idea where I kicked my shoes off to. I wasn't ready, and Holly'd probably come in here and start yelling about one thing or another because I wasn't ready, but I guess I just couldn't get excited for this party thing.

His friend Gil called him up and said something about a party at Arthur's house. I had no idea who any of these guys were, but a friend of Holly's had to be some good people. Plus a party, that was some good stuff right there. I've only been in England for-what?-two weeks now, and I've already been to a concert, and now I was going to some totally awesome party. Sweet! But I wonder what the chances were that I'd run into the kid from the concert there.

Was it bad that I didn't know his name? I guess, it kind of was, wasn't it? I mean, I did it with the guy, and I never even got his name. He left right after, like nothing happened, and I was stuck sitting with my pants down in the middle of a roaring concert crowd. Apparently crowds at those kinds of concerts were pretty wild too; found that out the hard way. If anything, I guess I should hate the guy for leaving me, but I'm sure that wasn't his intention. If anything, he probably lost track of time, because who would just hit and run like that, right? This kid seemed to hold himself pretty high up, there was no way he'd do it with some stranger and then just walk away. There had to be a reason he left. Especially in the middle of the concert.

"Hmm..."

I stretched out and stood up, my ball shorts swaying as I looked around the messy floor to try and find my shoes. It wasn't like they could've got up and walked away on their own, I mean, I just had them like five minutes before I crashed on the bed to be lazy, right after Holly left to go get his shower. I really had to stop misplacing things.

"Fucking liar."

I grinned as he gave me an amused look, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded, unlit cigarette hanging between his lips.

"It's hard to find anything in here, man!" I laughed and kicked at a a pile of pants, which oddly was only a pile of pants, and shrugged. "What time's this party start anyway?"

"Like an hour ago."

"How long's it til?"

"Til whenever Artie's parents get in, I guess." He smirked and walked in, picking my shoes up from under the bed. "Poor kid."

"It's his party though, ain't it?" I sat down to pull on my shoes, the laces were always already done for me. It was easier to wear them like that, and it wasn't like they ever fell off my feet or anything. "His parents strict?"

"Dunno."

"What's that mean?"

"I dunno the kid, really." he shrugged casually, finally flicking a silver lighter out from his pocket, lighting up. "I'm a friend of Gil's... Who's a friend of Francis... Who's Arthur's cousin."

"Oh, cool."

Their names kind of fit what I expected the British's names to be like. Arthur, Francis, Gilbert.. Like old people names. They probably had friends named Eugene and Edmund with their posh accents, drinking their tea and eating their finger sandwiches; would that be the food set out for this party? It sounded lame, but I knew Holly wouldn't go to some lame party, with tea and finger sandwiches, plus he was definitely not dressed for a tea party. No top hats or cloaks, just a t-shirt and jeans, and he said my ball shorts were alright; no dress code. I've been to plenty parties back home, wonder if they'd be at all the same.

We walked out of Holly's house, with him puffing away at the cigarette of his, and me with my fists balled and in my short pockets. I felt excited all of a sudden, and my stomach started to flip like the showcase airplanes back home. I didn't know why though. The closer we got to the party, the closer it felt like I was reaching what I've been waiting for, whatever that was. Here I went with that thinking again though, and then my mind on played images of that kid's face.

Blond, with dark green eyes, and huge eyebrows narrowed and angry. The only time he wasn't scowling was when I was giving it to him, or when he was smirking right before I started to give it to him. The scowl suited him though, I guess. He seemed like a really angry guy, or maybe he was just having a bad day. He probably had a nice smile though, and a really cool name. He kind of looked like a... Reggie, maybe. Something still along the lines of an English dude having, but still kind of cool. Whatever Reggie was short for, like Reginald; I could see that as the guy's name. And it was better than just calling him "that guy," that was too impersonal, especially for Reggie.

When I said I didn't think, that also went for I wasn't an emotional guy either. I mean, like sad emotional or... I dunno, I got mad and happy, but nothing, like, cheesy or anything. But, Reggie was my first time, as shocking as it would seem coming from a stud like myself. I mean, I had girlfriends before, but I never did anything with them, nothing like what me and Reggie did. That confused me though, me doing that with Reggie. Did that make me gay? I still found chicks hot and all though, but man...

Loud music broke me from my thoughts, and made me laugh because I was so deep in thought. We neared the house that was making all the noise, and walked right in without even knocking. A bunch of people were all there, dancing and drinking and doing whatever else. Some albino guy came over and hi-fived Holly, then gave me a once-over.

"This is Al," Holly called over the music, nudging the guy. "Al, this is Gil."

"Hey," I grinned, holding my hand out.

He looked at it and laughed, saying something to Holly before disappearing back into the crowd.

"What a creep!" I called over the music.

Holly just rolled his eyes, finding an unattended to cup to put his cigarette out in, then pulling me through the crowd to go meet people.

I approved.

**A/N: I feel like I miserably failed with Al's part. I'll mostly be doing Iggy, but... I just wanted to have a go with Al~  
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	4. Arthur 3

FML  
>Chapter Four<br>Arthur 3

It was the perfect view of the entire living room, but it wasn't as though I was actually paying attention to the wild party. It was hard to pay attention to anything when you had a fucking French leech attaching itself to your neck, biting and sucking and leaving marks all over, as though it was natural to have any sorts of relations with your cousin. I sat between his legs, with my back against his chest, staring out at the crowd, but not exactly at them, more through them. Their faces were blurred, the actions meant nothing, whatever music was playing was simply playing, I couldn't grasp the lyrics. I didn't really care about grasping the lyrics, or seeing the drunken expressions of the strangers in my house anyway; all I could picture was the angry faces of my parents when they came home and saw the wild mess.

"You worry too much, mon cher," Francis whispered, flicking his tongue out to trace the shell of my ear. "They are gone for the evening, they'll never find out about our little party. Enjoy yourself."

For once, he was probably right. He, Gil, and Toni all planned everything out before the whole thing even started. They had my parents arrival time and the party ending time not intermixing, and gave me enough time to clean up the place before we got caught. Me. Of course they would leave the "fun" part for me to handle. And it wasn't as though Peter would off and tell mum and dad, at least, not with the proper bribing method.

Before the party started, Francis and I stood in Peter's doorway, arms folded, side-by-side. The brat looked up at us and instantly began wailing for mummy, stopping only at the mention of candy. He stared at us with his wide blue eyed, arms folded over his sailor costume he refused to change out of, then looked between the two of us.

"All I want?"

"All that you want, cheri," Francis chuckled, poking his finger to the brat's nose, who in turn cringed and smacked frog away. "Arthur will pay for whatever sweet treats you wish!"

Why the fuck did I get stuck with all the hard work?

Sighing, looking down at the party, I felt more bored than I was before. Francis' mouth still managed to molest my neck, switching sides up to make sure the other didn't get lonely, finally flipping me to face him as we sit sprawled across the first floor landing. He looked down at me, grinning, and I rolled my eyes in response, leaning up to claim his mouth in the name of England. It seemed to please him, seeing as he let out a sickeningly delighted sound, snaking his arms around my waist to pull my stomach to rest against his. He was far too easily excited, obviously so from the disturbing and growing bulge in his trousers, and I continued to edge him on, rubbing up against him and suckling on his bottom lip. When he whined, I knew I had him, and figured the party wouldn't be that uninteresting, at least for the moment.

Was it odd that all the while I was getting with Francis, I thought of Alfred? I compared the hungry, lustful kisses I was getting to the gentle, innocent one's the American bloke gave me, and, for some reason, I yearned to be touched like that again. Reluctant, not-so-sure touches and kisses, gentle and tender, almost lovingly. But how could one stranger love another? How the hell did I get on the subject of love? Whatever. All that mattered was Francis' kiss was nothing like that of Alfred's, but it wasn't like anything changed with the frog's kiss, it was just strange to return to after "that time."

I found myself mimicking Alfred's movements and mentally scolded myself for doing so. When I kissed Francis, I did it slowly, longingly, and I didn't feel any longing towards him at all. Between he and I, it meant nothing, it was "practise," as he called it. I didn't want him, nor did I need him, we just used each other every now and then when we had nothing better to do. He was my last resort, as I was to him, and yet I was touching him like he was the only thing that mattered; the git was loving every second of it.

"So gentle," he murmured against my soft kiss, a smile to his words.

"Shut up."

He didn't need to speak, to ruin it; his silence made it easier to picture someone else. To picture Alfred. And, at the same time, I didn't want to picture Alfred. He was a nobody. He was some fucktard I met at a concert, and meant absolutely nothing to me. I didn't want to picture him, I'd rather just keep it up with knowing I was snogging Francis than to think it was some freak virgin stranger that I couldn't give two shits about.

"This party blows," I mumbled, pulling away from the frog, turning back around to lean my back against his chest, ignoring his arousal upon being poked.

He purred against my ear. "Speaking of blowing, mon amour... I could use some assistance if you are willing."

I elbowed him and stood up.

"You've got a hand."

I walked down the steps, leaving him there, grabbing a random red cup off a table and downing the contents quickly before bumping into some woman in the crowd. She giggled, trying to dance up on me, but I shoved passed her, making my way towards the kitchen; bouncing on the balls of my feet as I went.

Was it normal to have the face of a stranger clouding your mind constantly? Everything I did reminded me of the bloody concert, even the simply bouncing as I walked. Dancing; he made fun of my dancing and that was why the entire ordeal started to begin with, why I couldn't forget about him, no matter how hard I wanted to. I did want to, so badly, it pissed me off to constantly be thinking about someone I hardly even knew, and to think about them so religiously. He wouldn't leave me mind, it was like he was teasing me, taunting me, shoving back what I did to him in my face. I stripped him of his innocence, so he was stripping me of my sanity, having me want to do nothing more than to scream. It wasn't like anyone would notice if I were to scream, not that I cared if they all turned to stare at the freak screaming in the middle of the kitchen anyway.

"Enjoying yourself?" Toni leaned against the counter, grinning goofy at me.

"Yeah, s'righ', s'a fan-fucking-tastic party we've got going 'ere."

I rolled my eyes, sipping from the random cup and spitting it back out, placing the plastic thing back on the table. Toni chuckled and excused himself, screaming out to "Lovi" on his way. Not like I wanted to sit and talk with him anyway, although he was probably the most tolerable of Francis and his little friends, although not the most intelligent. All three of them were morons anyway, but Antonio seemed to just lack.. Anything up in his head. Without any thoughts, came absolutely no bad thoughts- The guy was too good-natured, kind of like..

"Fucking stop it already!"

I scolded myself, leaning back against the counter and looking at the crowd of people. The place was already an absolute mess, and I had the pleasure of having to clean it all up later. Red plastic cups were everywhere, the dark carpet was stained from spilled drinks and crumbs from snacks, photo frames were knocked down from the side tables, the glass keeping them in tact probably shattered. I didn't want this stupid party to happen to begin with, why I let them go along with it was beyond me. It was probably that little shred of hope that I'd see him again. Whatever. He could suck it for all I cared.

Pushing myself away from the counter, I opened the back door to the porch, where it was calmer and less crowded. There were three other people out there, a couple sitting on the swing, cuddling close and whispering whatever couple's whispered to each other, and a boy who was completely under dressed for a party, and the cold weather, leaning over the railing and looking out to the darkened backyard. I glanced at the couple and then shot for the lonely bloke, leaning on the railing right beside him, looking out at the darkness myself.

"Wot, did you just get back from some athletics meeting? You're 'orribly under dressed for a party."

"Heh, my buddy said there was no dress code. All my crap's like this."

Grabbing his wrists, I pulled him to look at me, staring up at the all-too familiar face. I almost grinned, but I refrained, simply staring up at the guy as he stared back, his confused expression probably mirroring that of my own, then breaking out into a wide grin.

"Hey, Reggie!" he laughed, pulling his wrists away to point at me.

I stared. Who the fuck was Reggie?

"Wot?"

"From the concert! How cool is this? I didn't think I'd actually see you again." he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Man, England's kinda small, huh? What are the odds?"

"Reggie?"

He laughed more. It was annoying, and I wanted to punch him so fucking hard.

"Aha, yeah," he shrugged, looking me over. "You left before you could give me your real name. I'm Alfred, by the way. You know, in case you forgot."

I wish I forgot.

"Arthur," I said casually, staring at him. He didn't even seem the slightest bit embarrassed. Did he remember exactly what happened at that damned concert? Did he remember me leaving him humiliated in the middle of the crowd, having taken the one thing that was actually his away from him? Or was he really just that fucking stupid? 'Forgot to give him my real name,' I hope he didn't honestly believe that.

"So this is your party then? Oh cool!"

"I guess,"

Why didn't he seem awkward? Why did he think it was okay to just be around me? I should've expected it though, the moron wouldn't back off while at the concert, wouldn't shut the hell up while I tried to ignore him, like he thought we were actually friends or something. He didn't think that though. I knew that Americans were stupid, but there was no way he could believe he and I were friends.-Or anything more at that. Sure, I kept thinking about him, but it was out of annoyance and nothing more. I hated him, I didn't even know him, he was nothing to me.

"I was hoping I'd see you again," Alfred smiled, reaching for one of my hands that he let fall. "I kinda wanted to talk about what happened, seeing as y'know, you left so soon afterwards."

I squeezed his hand, pulling him towards the door. "S'go upstairs."

**A/N: OMG They met again~ xD How obvious. But anyways, be prepared for another lemon... Most-likely... In like the next chapter or the one after that... And then after that happens, we'll see what random shit I can pull from my sleeve. I hope you liked it, please review~  
><strong>


	5. Arthur 4

FML  
>Chapter Five<br>Arthur's POV

The music downstairs only encouraged my actions. As soon as I had the American in my room, I was pressed up against him, removing his glasses from his frames. There were no obvious objections from the other side, only that goofy grin of his as he stared down at me, probably only seeing me as nothing more than a blob. I folded up his glasses, placing them on my night table, and guided him over to the bed.

"Y'know, it's funny," he spoke, taking a seat. "You're all I thought about since that concert. I was hoping I'd see ya again. And that we'd get to, y'know.."

He trailed off a bit sheepishly, but I understood. His straight-forwardness with this situation actually took me off-guard just a bit, but I was easily composed once more, holding his obviously larger hands between mine. His head was tilted downwards, and although I stripped him of his innocence, the childishness still lingered around him. It was both irritating and oddly comforting, all at once. I wanted to hit him, for making me no longer want to hit him, for him also being the only thing I thought about, and then I actually wanted to tell the bloke that I felt the same. That he was the only thing on my mind ever since that bloody concert. But I had too much pride to admit something like that. I was lucky enough that I admitted such a thing to myself.

My thumb brushed over his knuckles, but he didn't make a move to try and kiss me or anything. That innocence, that's what it was. He was so awkward and clumsy with this sort of situation, even after that concert. But instead of being irritated, I found it charming. Unlike his words, he wasn't as straightforward with his actions. It was almost adorable. The soft blush on his cheeks, that never-disappearing grin from his face, and the way he looked at me, even if I was sure I was certainly blurry to him, it wasn't hungry. He didn't look at me like an object, like how Francis looked at me, or like how I used him at that concert. He almost looked lovingly. Suddenly I was scared.

More than anything, I wanted to touch him, kiss him, feel him, see him in his most vulnerable state, but I felt frozen. I looked up at him, into those sparkling blue eyes, and I felt fear. Fear of the fact that I was sure I looked at him just like that. That I had a loving gaze in my eyes, that I might've actually loved this American twit. Impossible. I met him once. Sodding once! There was no way in hell that I was in love with a stranger. A stranger that I used for a quick fuck, and now suddenly couldn't stop thinking about. This stranger that made my stomach feel uneasy in a strange, wonderful way; that had the noises from that blasted party downstairs disappear, and have all of my focus just end up on him. It was horrifying.

"You're shaking, Iggy. You okay?"

"M'fine."

I slipped my hands from his and let them lay on my lap, avoiding looking at his face at all costs.

"You're lying."

"Shu'up."

My mouth crashed against his, and slowly he returned the kiss. His hands found their way to my waist, lifting me slightly and pulling me close against him. I leaned and moved as directed, my hands sliding up his baggy shirt, gripping the fabric near his collar. If I kissed him, I could wash away all thoughts of this being anything but impure and meaningless, or at least not as meaningful as my mind wondered for it to be. I could kiss him, feel him, touch him, just as my body and mind both yearned for ever since that damn concert, where our bodies clashed against the drizzling rain, now once again in the sanctity of my bedroom. Alone. With only the eyes of the posters on my walls to watch as our clothes were discarded from our warm bodies, our naked flesh rubbing against each other. The door was clicked locked, the desk lamp was the only thing that illuminated our bare skin, allowing me to see the look in his sparkling blue eyes.

Finally, that sense of innocence was almost nearly gone from the blue pools, and filled with a gaze more lustful. His impaired eyes scanned over my body as I rested beneath him, his hands pressed to the flesh of my wrists, having my hands pinned down against the bedsheets. The look he gave me made the blood rush noticeably to all parts of my body, and moan softly as he kissed me more, over and over, longingly and deep. The soft thumping that was loud in the room wasn't from the muffled music in the downstairs, it was from my heart.

"You're not gunna run off again when we finish, will ya?" he asked teasingly, his breath warm against my neck. "I know where ya live now, so I'll be able to find ya."

"Guess I've nowhere to run now." I joked back, leaning up to quickly kiss his lips. "But we'll just have to see according to your performance."

He grinned down at me, kissing my cheek, and I prepared myself. Just as loud banging erupted against my door. Out of instinct, both of our heads shot towards the exit, the shadow of feet seen from the space between the door and the rug. Bare socks with blue tips, toes wiggling through the crack. Peter.

"Arthur! You jerk! Open the door!"

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Francis and his freaky friend with the red eyes kicked me out of my room! Let me in, jerk Arthur! Let me in or I'm telling mum all about your little party when she gets home!"

"Fuck,"

I groaned, rolling my eyes. Alfred continued to sit looking a bit dumbfounded while hovering over me. I pushed him aside and stood from the bed, quickly throwing on a pair of boxers, that, thanks to all the excitement, now fit uncomfortably. The brat always had to off and ruin everything, didn't he? And that perverted cousin of mine didn't give a shit that he'd fuck his mate on a twelve-year old's bed. I grabbed my music player and headphones, then opened the door. There stood Peter in his pale blue pajamas, holding a pillow under one of his arms. He made a movement to duck into my room, but I blocked his entrance.

"You'll go lay in mum and dad's room," I pushed him down the hall and called over the music. He stumbled along and walked in.

"Why're you in your underwear?" he questioned, climbing into the large bed. "What kind of party are you freaks having down there?"

"It's Francis' party. I'm trying to sleep. Like you should be doing." I spoke irritably as I tucked him in, placing the headphones over his ears, and putting the music player in his hands. "Now go to bed."

He started to fiddle with the songs, then looked up at me.

"I don't like your mates."

"I don't like them either. Sleep."

And I walked from the room, turning to watch him curl up, the light of the player illuminating his tired face. I walked out of the room and back into my own, where Alfred was laying on the bed, the sheet laying over his lap, as he stared blindly at the ceiling. Clicking the door locked once more, I tip-toed towards the bed, and climbed myself ontop of him, pressing myself against, rolling my hips against his as I leaned my head over his. He smiled up at me, arms unfolding from behind his head to rest on my hips. Like he wasn't even mad that the brat interrupted us before we could start. Like he wasn't ticked off that the mood was ruined in an instant. Like he didn't want to just leave.

I would've.

"So, where were we?" he asked playfully.

"Seriously?" I raised a brow.

Before I knew it, I was once again flipped to lay beneath him, the sheet discarded, my eyes allowed to roam every inch of his strong body. His large hands running over my skin, his lips trailing over my neck... Funny how it was like we weren't even interrupted. He was odd, so odd that I wasn't sure whether it bothered me or it intrigued me more about this particular American. ...I was intrigued, I knew I was intrigued. All terror seemed to drain away as he tried claiming dominance of my mouth, with a growl I fought back.

We spent the remainder of the party writhing beneath the sheets, so engrossed with each other. We didn't notice the people leaving, the music gone, or the car pulling up to the house that belonged to my parents. I didn't care if there was a huge mess downstairs from the remainder of the party, or if I'd get grounded because of it. All that mattered was Alfred and myself. That, this time, it wouldn't be regretful, I wouldn't be using him.

I wouldn't run away.


	6. Arthur 5

FML  
>Chapter Six<br>Arthur's POV

There's that moment in your life where everything just seems right. You don't feel so much hatred for the fucked up world, and the only thing that matters is that one person who you never would've gave second glance to if they never approached you to begin with. Concerts could be live-altering, for the better it seems, until the worst of it comes and bites you in the ass. Perfect is a fairytale word, never to be described for real life. And once it finally seems to actually apply to your real life, especially when your life is normally chaotic and hellish, then you should automatically start to assume the worst.

The worst wasn't even as bad as compared to the situation I found myself in. I was a hopeless case, enough said. My every thought revolved around some boy I met at a concert, and I didn't care that he was all I thought about, that I thought I actually loved this boy. I loved spending every minute of practically every day with him. My life was him, and it was a horrifying time, when you look back at it. If he were to be taken from me, my life would collapse around me, and I'd no longer feel the need to live. Pathetic. Completely and utterly pathetic. I was a mess. Entangled and infatuated with the thought of love, with the thought of his every touch, his every kiss, everything he did with me. So fucking stupid...

We were sitting at a near-by park. The sky was grey and cloudy, a light mist clinging to the gentle breeze. I wore his hoodie, despite me telling him that I wasn't cold, and he sat in a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans, his arms stretched out along the back of the bench, his posture slightly slouched. Ont of my knees was held to my chest, while the other crept through the bridge my raised leg made; hands folded on my knee, I felt at peace watching the little droplets of water hit against the pond across from our bench, right passed the little patch of dewy grass. I was leaning a little against Alfred's side, and he was talking about how much he dreaded leaving for back home, and that was when I normally blocked out his speaking and thought of something else.

"I head back tomorrow. Man, I'm going to miss you."

But this time I couldn't block it out. No matter how badly I wanted to.

"You're what?" I looked back at him, both my legs dropping so my boots hit the grass.

"I'm going home tomorrow." He gave me that innocent look of his. "Arthur, I've been telling you this for days."

"You never told me this!" I pushed myself away a bit, turning half my body to face him. "You never once mentioned you were leaving fucking tomorrow!"

His eyes narrowed. "I told you like a billion times."

"Like hell you did!"

I stood from the bench, looking at him. My heart was slowly detaching itself from my chest; my world was slowly starting to deteriorate. I stared at him and he looked so distant, even if he really only was a few inches away. Confused, I shook my head, not really sure where to move or what to do, while Alfred just stared up at me like I was insane.

"I'm going to miss you." he said, trying to smile.

"Fuck you."

That hoodie of his was thrown off me in a matter of seconds, and I overreacted completely by running away. I ran all the way back home, not noticing traffic signs or lights, or caring if some car ended up hitting me. In fact, I welcomed it. The thought of losing him was losing my entire world, because I was an idiot and let him into my life in the first place. He was one of those people that would effect you in the worst possible way. He finagled his way into my life and then would leave without warning like some fucking jerk! He ruined me. I was strong, I didn't cry, or get upset over people. I hated everyone! And I couldn't hate him. I loved him. I abso-bloody-lutely loved that son of a bitch, and he was trying to leave me.

"Arthur, what are you doing ho- Arthur? Iggy, what's wrong?"

I ignored my mum and walked up the steps, leaving the downstairs door wide open, but slamming my bedroom door shut and locking it. I kicked off my muddy shoes, having them both fly against the wall hard. The slamming noise almost calmed me, to the point where that's what I ended up doing. I slammed myself against the wall: my fist, my arms, my sides, my head. I hit the walls hard until I was sure I'd end up breaking holes in them. What was wrong with me? I was like some temperamental child who wasn't getting his way. It was my own damn fault I was like this. I didn't get close to people. I didn't give a fuck what people thought. And finally, once I start to, I get screwed over in the end.

He was leaving me. And the one thing he'd remember me by was my Drama Queen exit.

The next morning, I was laying in bed with arms wrapped around me. My half-naked body pressed back against another's warm body. It was like waking up from a nightmare. Alfred wasn't leaving, he was laying beside me, holding me, and everything was fine. But no, waking up was the nightmare. The arms that held me close and tight were too hairy and lanky to be my Alfred's. They were Francis's. His stubbled chin rubbed against my shoulder, his soft lips brushed against my neck. I stared out at the wall, feeling my eyes burn because I lost the one person that I actually felt close to, that I felt like I loved. I gave him up like nothing, and had no one but this fucking incestuous frog who was so fucking giddy to have caught me at my low point.

"He was just a phase." he muttered against my ear. "You'll get over him."

"What do you know? You're a whore, you've never actually liked someone before."

"That's not true." he said with mock offense.

"Shut up."

"It's not." He persisted, nuzzling against my neck. "I've liked someone before. Someone who I'll never be able to have. But I make due."

"I don't care about your sob story." I snapped. "Let me be emo alone. Why are you even here?"

"You called me, mon cher."

"Well leave."

"I can't~ I'm your driver to the concert!"

His smile pressed against my bare shoulder, and I ignored my mother calling my name again. She didn't get the hint that I wanted to be alone. Neither did Francis, but the only hints he was able to understand is when someone wanted sex, but he took that as any sort of gesture from another. Wanker. I hated him so much. I hated that he touched me, took advantage of me, and no matter how hard I fought back, I'd never be able to win with him. He was too bloody persistent. Sometimes I just wanted to drown him in a lake...

The doorknob twisted.

"Go away, mum!"

And Alfred walked in. He looked from me to Francis, and this odd look came across his face. It wasn't hurt or betrayal, it was fury. He dropped his bag and stepped over to the bed, grabbing Francis's lanky arm and pulling him from the bed. His fist clashed with a stubbled face, and a lot of grunts and groans followed after. Bloody noses, busted lips, pulled hair, and repeated blows to the stomach. I sat up unusually slow and watched Alfred beat the living shit out of Francis. It beat drowning his ass in a lake by far.

I almost felt bad for Francis though, but it was about time he learned his place. He learned that I wasn't his, and that he didn't understand what Alfred and I had. Even though he was from across the pond, he and I were meant to be together. I was almost positive about it, and I never thought of shit like that before. I've been with people, in "relationships," I guess you could classify them as, but these last few weeks were the most stable things I've ever been involved in. This, what Alfred and I had, it was more than just some stupid summer romance. It was more than just some fooling around. I hated him for leaving, but I could never hate him at all.

"What the hell's this about, huh?" Alfred let Francis drop to the floor, and looked down at me.

I lifelessly looked back at him. He stared at me until I felt like I was about to just lose it under his gaze. I looked down at bit my lip, shaking my head.

"This is bull." he half-laughed.

"I didn't do anything with him." I said, shrugging. "He's a touchy creep."

There was silence, then the American bloke dropped to his knees before me, his larger hands scooping mine up, holding them close. He tilted his head to look at me.

"I just wanted to say goodbye."

"I don't do goodbyes."

"C'mon, Iggy, please-"

"I need to get ready. I'm going to a concert tonight."

I pushed myself off the bed, and walked to my closet, grabbing out random clothes. I heard him sigh from behind me, then shift to stand and recollect his bag.

"My plane doesn't leave until 9. I was hoping to spend today with you."

"You should've planned it better. I'm busy."

"Whatever."

...and just like that, he was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>I think there will be one more chapter of this, and then it'll be over. I've got the ending all planned. Also, I'm sorry for the suckishness of this chapter... And repetitiveness and whatnot. Your pain will be over soon!<strong>


	7. Alfred 2

FML  
>Chapter Seven<br>Alfred's POV 2

Holly's room was oddly cleaner with my stuff all packed up. Guess I was messier than I thought. I lay on his bed, in the room by myself, while he was downstairs talking to his dad about something. He must've got the hint that I didn't feel like being bothered, that I was acting really strange considering how I normally acted. There was hardly a time when I wasn't smiling or happy, and over the last few weeks with Arthur, my happy-meter was up by like a billion, and now I couldn't do it. I didn't want to leave him.

-We'll be there to pick you up at the airport, son. Call us if there's a delay.-

My phone was in my hand like it was glued there, getting excited whenever it started to vibrate, thinking it was Arthur, thinking that he was just joking about what he said earlier. He wanted to spend my last day with me too, I was sure of it. I mean, he told me he loved me, and I could tell by that look in his eyes that he meant it. He meant every thing he said to me, everything but what happened earlier, that he was too busy for me. How could he be?

Clutching the phone closer to me, I sighed heavily and closed my eyes, feeling them burn with tears. Dammit, I didn't cry. I never cried. I was a man, a hero, but Arthur did things to me that made me feel so weak. I wasn't sure if it was in a good way or not, but crying couldn't be good. I loved him. I loved him with all my heart, I was sure. He was the first guy I ever looked at in more than a friendly way, he was my whole heart, I knew it even after this short time I spent with him.

It was so weird, thinking. Thinking in general, but getting so into my emotions like this. I wasn't a generally serious guy, and yet here I was, my thoughts couldn't be more serious. I thought of my life without Arthur, how empty it would be, and will be, as soon as I board that plane and leave England. Even if I come back sometime to visit Holly, there's no saying that Arthur wouldn't have moved on, that he wouldn't like... Go buy a house somewhere with his French cousin guy and get married to him or something. I didn't know how the legal system worked over-seas, maybe that kind of stuff was okay to do around here. But I felt like Arthur would wait for me. He loved me, and I loved him, and that was all there was to it.

"We're gunna go grab dinner, Al." Holly walked in the room, grabbing my bags. "Come on."

He left me, bringing my luggage out to the car. The sky was already getting dark, and it was around 6 pm. I would be getting on my plane at nine, if there were no delays, but I'd probably be in that airport by seven-thirty, at the earliest. It made my heart ache and my stomach feel so weird. I wasn't used to this at all, and I didn't like it one bit. Life without him would wreck me.

When I finally peeled myself from Holly's bed, I walked down the steps and put on my most false, heroic smile for his parents. His mom hugged me and told me to come back whenever I wanted, and his dad patted my shoulder and wished me well.

"Thanks for letting me stay guys, it was awesome." I grinned, then walked towards the door. "Keep Holly out of trouble when I leave!"

Holly hit me in the back of the head and pushed me out the door. I jogged towards the car and got in, settling in the front seat, which was where the driver's seat was supposed to be. Cars in England were so weird, I'd never get used to it. I remember when Iggy and I took a bus to get around London, I was freaking out that we'd end up getting in an accident. The roads were complete opposite to what I was used to back home. He couldn't stop laughing at me, and his laughter was so contagious, and went on for forever, like it had been a while since he laughed at all. Like his laugh was special and just for me. I liked that last thought, even if, while I sat alone in the car, it made me upset.

Looking at Holly's house, at his parents waving in the doorway, I was just generally upset. I'd miss them too, since they were such nice people and let me into their home, and Holly's mom was a great cook. The house was real welcoming, and it was kind of like a second home to me. My second family belonged to my best friend/penpal, who got in the car and started it up, putting his music on full blast. I waved to his parents as we drove off down the road, the empty feeling inside of me growing.

Man, I felt like such a baby. I was inwardly crying about leaving to go home, when I was so nervous to even come here to begin with. Now I didn't want to leave. I wanted to hang out and watch sports with Holly and his dad, eat the food his mom set out on the table, and then run over to Arthur's house and have him for dessert. I knew he still wanted me, that he'd miss me just as much as I did. He just wasn't as good as pretending and hiding the way he felt as I was, I guess, because when I saw him earlier, I wanted to just break down and cry and hold him til there was no end.. After I beat his freaky cousin up first of course.

"Fuck," Holly groaned, hitting his hands against the top of the steering wheel as we pulled into a long line of cars. "I forgot about this damn concert thing."

"Who's playing?"

"It's some local shit," he shrugged. "Free and stuff. Just a community gathering, I guess."

I blinked and watched a group of giggling girls walk beside our car on the sidewalk, moving towards where the concert was. My heart picked up as I remembered what Iggy said.

This could be my last chance to see him. My last chance to say goodbye and get him to say it back. I wanted to remember him happy, with that damn gorgeous smile of his that made me smile ten times wider than I should've. If we continued following down the line of cars, towards the concert park, I could get that chance. I could wrap my arms around him and hold him close and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. Because I knew he wanted that too. I knew he didn't want what we had to end the way it ended. We were in love, and love doesn't just fade like that, it never ends. I knew I wasn't smart, but I was sure of that. Sure that what we had was love, and it wasn't going to end. Ever.

"Hey, Hol, do they have food and stuff at this concert."

"Yeah, like.. Food carts and crap."

"We should go there instead of a diner or something." I said. "I think Iggy's going.."

He snorted. "You still wanna deal with him?"

"Of course." I said with a real grin, the thought of seeing him again made me all excited. "I have to."

* * *

><p><strong>One more chapteerrrrr!<br>**


	8. The End

FML  
>Chapter Eight<br>Arthur's POV 6  
>The End.<p>

The night air was cool and the sky was dark. I didn't care much for the music they were playing, it didn't suit my tastes. Or maybe my mind was just too occupied. As soon as we arrived, Francis ran off in search for Toni, and I was left to wonder on my own, through the crowds of people, groupings of families picnicing in the grass; fists jammed in my pockets, I finally found my way under an uninhabited tree, and sat down on one of the raised roots, my knee lifted towards my chest, hands folded around my shin.

Everyone was celebrating and joyous for the uplifting concert again. I could've easily came with mum, dad, and Peter, and camped on their blanket with them, enjoying the family festivities, but I instead chose to drive with Francis, because that way I knew I could roam off on my own and not bother anyone with my misery. Or, to rephrase that better, be bothered by anyone while wallowing in my misery. All the smiling, happy faces reminded me of him.

Never in my life have I felt more stupid than I did this very moment. It was my final day with Alfred, and I blew him off because I was mad I hadn't heard him right. It was my own damn fault, and yet I was too prideful to admit that out loud. I was too... Something to just forgive him and stay with him for our final few hours together. I let him walk out of my life without even telling him goodbye or how much I'd miss him. Because I would miss him. Hell, I already missed him like a sin. This empty feeling overcame me and I felt like there was no way I'd ever recover from this pain. Even within such a short time, he became such a huge part of me, and now that piece of me was missing. I was incomplete, broken. Maybe if things didn't end so horribly, I wouldn't feel as badly.

But of course I still would. I was losing the first real thing I ever had that was completely mine and I didn't have to share. I loved Alfred F. Jones, and I wasn't afraid to admit it to anyone who dare ask. I'd say it proudly, I'd get up on that damn stage, steal the microphone from the singer, and scream it out to all of London that I was in love with Alfred Jones of America, and no one in this whole bloody country stood a chance compared to him. I felt so low, I'd probably admit how fucking stupid I was, to the entire crowd at the park, and that I was wrong to just let him go. That, nothing unlike usually, I made a huge mistake on letting him go so easily, and didn't take my chance to spend every second kissing and holding him for as long as I still could.

I wish I still had that chance, but he was surely gone by now. It was about seven, and his plane left at nine... He'd be heading towards the airport by now, boarding his plane and leaving myself and London behind. Pretty soon his whole vacationing here would be nothing but a distant dream and he'd move on so freaking easily with his life- Probably eventually have his own family and a new partner, and I'd be nothing but a lonely pile of memories in the corner of his mind. The thought made my stomach sick. The thought of never seeing him again, and him moving on without me. He could escape London and our time together, but I'd never be able to. His body was stained in my sheets, his image plastered on every corner. And as much as it tormented me that I'd be haunted by the thought of him for as long as I lived, it comforted me all the same. Because I knew he was real, and what we had was real, and I'd never forget it.

All this thinking of him made me feel weak, and I was glad the tree shaded me enough so that the tears welling in my eyes could stay hidden. It wasn't like me to cry over anyone, to care about people enough to do it, but I care far too much about this certain man, this American, and I couldn't help but try to stifle my sobs as the realization of his leaving gradually and continuously hit me over and over, making my whole body feel so heavy and hurt.

"That asshole," I muttered, wiping my eyes and sniffling. "I'm completely damaged.. I'm ruined, and it's his bloody fault."

I glared down at my shoes, but even still my rage resided at me and not him. I was still so angry about my stupid mistake, and for not listening to him when he told me how limited our time was together. I hated myself for losing him. I hated myself so damn much! He was my reason, and now I had nothing... God save the Queen, I was such an angsty teenager... But dammit, it was true. I needed him. I needed him to be able to go on. I needed to at least be forgiven by him.

My mobile was sitting perfectly on my bed back at home, and calling him wouldn't do any good anyway. Texting him would be even worse and so impersonal. There was no way to right this wrong. There was no way to get him back and make him stay, not like that was ever an option to begin with. Unless there was a way for me to get myself a plane ticket to America and go live with him, I was screwed. That thought was too reckless anyway, even for me.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips, and I folded my arms over my knees, sinking my head down so that only my eyes and forehead poked out to look at the crowded park, staring blurred and blank, right through everyone. In all my life, I never felt so bloody miserable, so lost.

"Hn, fuck this..."

"That's no language for a family event."

My ears were deceiving me. That voice was his. The body that leaned against the tree right beside me was his. And as much as I wanted to jump up and tackle him, making a huge scene in front of the whole park, I just rolled my head to look up at him. He smiled down at me, and I melted a little. He slid down the tree trunk a little so his head was at level with mine, our eyes glued to each other's.

"How's this concert, huh?"

"It sucks."

"You really don't look like you're enjoying yourself." He lifting a hand to wipe a tear from my eyes, then used that same hand to lift my chin. "I'm not leaving without a goodbye, Arthur."

"...don't leave at all."

I leaned up, my mouth crashing against his, my hands gripping to the front of his shirt, so afraid to let go and have him disappear. He fell a little to kneel on the raised root with me, his hands locking behind my back, pulling me up so to deepen the kiss. It felt so right, so perfect, like he wasn't going to leave me as soon as we parted. Like this wasn't goodbye and I'd get to keep him forever. He wasn't leaving, he was moving in with his friend and staying here. That's what was happening. He was here to celebrate, just like the rest of everyone here at this park, but celebrate his staying and our love.

I clung to him closer, the feeling of having lost him once was still lingering in my heavy heart, and I didn't want to feel that way again. I couldn't lose him a second time, I couldn't lose him for real. There'd be no chance of him coming back and getting me, no chance of him coming to steal a final goodbye kiss, because this was the moment. This was our final moment. A tearful kiss in the middle of some stupid little local concert. Opposite of how we met, from a meaningless fuck in the middle of rainy concert. This kiss would give me reason to survive for the rest of eternity, make me want to go on, have to go on, without him. Because I'd HAVE to go on without him.

Without those bright blue eyes, that beautiful smile, that gentle and innocent kiss of his. I'd have to try and go a day without him... Days without him, weeks without him, months without him, years without him. I'd probably have to go the rest of my whole damn life without him. And that made me kiss him more longingly, hold him more closely. I hated this so much.

"I love you, Arthur." he smiled a little down at me, wiping away my flowing tears.

"I love you more, you stupid American." I looked down, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face against his chest.

He held me closer, sitting back against the tree trunk with me on his lap, just holding me. We stayed quiet, but it was perfect. Until he finally really had to leave, and I had to watch him walk out of my life for good. Promises of keeping in touch left our lips between kisses, while his mate tried pulling him back in the car and take him away from me. I leaned in the window for a final kiss, and he held my hand until our fingers slipped apart and his car took off. I was left to just stand there and watch as he was ripped from my world.

"Hey, jerk!"

I looked back to see Peter running over. "Mum said to come find you and Francis, she's got sandwhiches."

"I'll be there in a mo'." I said, looking down the road as unfamiliar cars drove down it.

"Now, jerk Arthur!" he whined, pouting.

Rolling my eyes I turned and knocked his hat from his head, then ran off towards mum and dad's picnic laughing as Peter yelled and ran after me. That American boy left some odd impact on me, and I'd never forget him. It was like a part of him would always still be here with me.. As horribly cliche as it sounded, he'd always be apart of my heart.

Maybe our paths would cross again.

* * *

><p><strong>The end.<strong>

**I hope you guys enjoyed it, and the ending wasn't too fail for you. Thanks everyone for all the reviews and fav/alerts for this story! I honestly didn't think it was that great, but it's nice to know some people did! Please, if you read this chapter, leave a review... And keep a look out in case I start another USUK story or something! Thanks again, guys!  
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